Ann Veronica had come to the Imperial College obsessed by the great figure of Russell, by the part he had played in the Darwinian controversies, and by the resolute effect of the grim-lipped, yellow, leonine face beneath the mane of silvery hair. We’ll make short work of them. She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears. A small voice greeted her, hissing. It was not possible for him to have been deceived. It’s John.
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